Fallen Star
by wildheartsgypsysouls
Summary: Lydia is a brand new FBI Special Agent and she requested to work at Beacon Hills Sheriff Department. Odd choice, but she's been having disturbing dreams and hearing things urging her towards the small town. After all that's where her best friend, Allison was from. Now that she's here she's assigned to work with Detective Parrish to solve a string of interesting murders.
1. Chapter 1

LYDIA

* * *

"Lydia Martin," the sheriff interviewing me read off the top of my resume paper. His badge read 'Stilinksi' on it, as did the plaque at the front of his desk. He was dressed in the usual tan shirt and dark green police uniform that I had seen before in Beacon hills. The deputies wore the same thing, guns strapped to their hips, but the sheriff had a gold star on the left side of his shirt, signaling his position. He kept reading my resume, along with the glowing letters of recommendation I knew I had.

The list of my accomplishments and awards was long, too long to fit on one page like a girl my age should be able to. I graduated valedictorian from my private high school, and any college I'd applied to offered me nearly a full ride scholarship. Sticking to the east coast, I chose Harvard, majored in applied mathematics, and in four years I'd graduated summa cum laude. I was brilliant. To me, that wasn't something to brag about, it simply was. I was on my way to a Fields Medal when my plans were violently derailed.

"You are amazingly accomplished Lydia." Truth be told, the sheriff sounded a little shocked.

"Thank you, sir." I simply smiled.

"'Incredibly gifted,'" he read of one of the letters. "'A born leader…' I'm surprised the FBI let you come down here." He looked at me a little suspiciously over the top of my papers. I had been expecting this.

It hadn't been easy letting my superiors agree to send me to the middle of nowhere, as they considered Beacon Hills, California. Especially since they considered me a rising star. Allison and I had both interned at the FBI after our second year at Harvard. We both had dreams to become some of the youngest special agents, and we were on our way. Allison's family was in all kinds of FBI or military, so she'd been prepared for the physical portion of our work.

I was recruited right after I graduated college, and I'd just made special agent status at 23. Everyone thought I was insane for asking to be sent out here, but this was something I had to do. This was where Allison was from. But they still wanted to know why I would sentence myself to exile.

I had to partly agree, it was a small town. On my drive through, I hadn't seen a single decent mall. Looks like I would be doing all my shopping online from now on. But I hadn't come to Beacon Hills because of the shopping. Nothing so mundane or fun.

No, I'd been having dreams. Increasingly disturbing dreams that all seemed to center around this little town. I couldn't see how a town like this could have so many problems, but I trusted my instincts. It went against everything I'd been taught so far in the academy; listen to the evidence, search for clues and patterns, be sure before you act on anything. But my decision was made. Something was going on in Beacon hills and I needed to figure out what it was.

Though I couldn't very well tell my superiors I needed to come here because of a few scary dreams and some disturbing whispers, I'd managed to convince them anyways. Beacon Hills has always been a mystery for law enforcement of all kind, FBI included, and the amount of unsolved cases here were enough to drive anyone insane. Sheriff Stilinski knew that. Beacon Hills was a job killer, and volunteering to be sent out here was a step below Antarctica. My mom thought I was having my mid-life crisis at 22, but she had good reason to believe so. I'd already thought of my cover, so to speak, but I didn't need to go into that before absolutely necessary. Let them all think this was the higher up's version of a test, to see if I could do what no one else could. That's why I designed my equation.

"Sir, I'm not here to spy on you, if that's what you're thinking." Stilinski put down the papers, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms, regarding me shrewdly. Evidently that was what he was thinking.

"Then tell me, Miss Martin," he purposefully didn't call me agent, though that's what I was, reminding me exactly what he thought of my young age. Not that I needed to be reminded. It wasn't easy being a young girl in this field where age meant experience and street smarts. "What are you doing here?"

"Simple. I'm here to help. Sir." I had to tack the sir on at the end before I came off as rude. Heaven's forbid. I didn't like to be underestimated, though it happened more often than I'd like. But this was a job interview, one that I needed if I was going to convince anyone to let me stay here.

"Help with what?" He wasn't buying it.

"What I do lies primarily in research. I gather all information about any kind of disturbances, most often murders, in one area over a specific time, and I look for patterns. If all goes well, I predict what's going to happen next."

"So you sit behind a desk and look at pictures of crime scenes."

"Occasionally," I nodded. It was always hard pitching what I did. Back on the east coast I got results, so I was allowed a little leeway. People tended to accept what I told them without needing much more than a nudge in the general direction after I'd proven that my 'system' works. "Most times I'll need to be at the crime scene to observe first hand what occurred and what was left behind. But I also look at cold cases, old notes and pictures, too see if I can find anything from them as well. There's a lot of math and probability that goes into it." And right on cue, his eyes began to glaze over as I went into more details about the equations and laws I used to narrow down suspects.

Math was hard for a lot of people, but for me, it just clicked. Numbers made sense, I could see the patterns in them, and I could understand what they were trying to tell me. But start explaining that to anyone else, throw in enough numbers and mathematical laws, and people were perfectly ready to take you at your word. Just like Stilinski did.

"That's enough," he held up a hand and I stopped mid-sentence, trying not to let my smile show. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. Not being able to solve cases would take it's toll on anyone, and Stilinski had been here for years. "If you want to end your career before it's even begun, be my guest. You seem smart enough not to screw anything up, but I'll warn you all the same. Look at all the cold cases you want, but while you're there, you'll organize the entire storage room. And I'll consider letting you consult on some of the newer cases, maybe. For now, you'll report to Parrish."

"Thank you, sir." I stood up and reached across the desk to shake his hand. He seemed taken aback to see how short I was. I got that a lot. Apparently I had a big personality and seemed like I should be taller, but I was only 5'3". But I loved my heels, and their added height pushed me up to average height. I grabbed my bag and held it over my shoulder with both hands, finally allowing myself to smile. Stilinski kept all the papers I'd given him, as I expected he would. I'm sure he'd be reading about me for a while, trying to figure out if I was really telling him the truth. I was, mostly.

He led the way out of his office towards where I was guessing the records room was. The station was small and I knew there weren't that many people working here, but since I'd been in Stilinski's office, the amount of officers, those on shift and off duty, seemed to have doubled. Seems word really did travel fast in small towns. Everyone wanted to see the FBI girl, and they were all staring. I straightened my back and fought the urge to flick my hair back, reminding myself it had taken half an hour to get it to sit just right in the French twist I coerced it into this morning. My heels seemed to echo against the tiled floor, sounding to me as loud as gunshots. I couldn't help but notice almost all the officers were men, and I'm sure they noticed me too. Law enforcement, and the FBI for that matter, was a highly male field, forcing me to work even harder to earn my position. Stilinski was probably still wondering why I would come out to a backwater town and make it that much harder on myself. Everyone else was.

_'Lydia, I don't know what's gotten into you,' my mother stood in the middle of my room, steadfastly refusing to help me pack like I asked. 'You've always been so practical. I knew you were going places from the minute you spoke your first words. But California?'_

_'Yes mother.' I folded another dress and waited for the argument we'd already had to repeat itself again. _

_'You're not even going to LA or San Francisco, you're going to that little town, oh what's it called,' she waved her hand in the air like she conjure the answer. 'Lighthouse something.'_

_'Beacon Hills, mother. And I'm going to be catching murderers.'_

_'Yes, that's what worries me.' She watched me closely, searching for any cracks in my conviction so she could try to persuade me to stay._

_I gave up trying to pack. 'What did you think I was going to do in the FBI mom? Push papers, sit at a desk, look pretty, and let the big boys solve everything while I fetch coffee.'_

_'Of course not, honey. You're too smart for that.'_

_'Mom, this is the only place Michael will let me test out my equation. There's so many unsolved murders down there to choose from, I know I can make it work.' Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. If I cried, then my mother would cry and that would be a mess. 'I can help people. I can make sure no one ends up like Allison.'_

_'Oh honey.' My mom enfolded me in one of those hugs that only mothers know how to give. She'd worn the same perfume my whole life, and every time I hugged her, it smelled like home, like I was safe. I hugged her tight, wishing I wasn't having these dreams pushing me to go across the country and leave her alone. She'd miss me just as much as I would miss her. I pressed my face into her shoulder. My lack of height had nothing to do with my mother, who stood tall at 5'8". She never treated me like one, but I always felt like I was still a child when she hugged me, like if I crawled into her bed at night she could keep the bad dreams away. But these were dreams I was going to have to fight on my own. _

My mother and I had picked out the outfit I was wearing specifically for this interview. It was simple, classy, but still cute. I had a beautiful black pencil skirt that went to just above my knees and a silk blue button up shirt. My shoes weren't the usual beauties I would wear, but a simple black pair with heels only about two inches high. Even with the added height, I'm pretty sure I was the shortest one in the entire station. But that had never stopped me before, and I wouldn't let it stop me now.

The sheriff showed me around the station, pointing out things I already knew. I read up about everything I could find about Beacon Hills, and then some. What can I say; I did my research. I didn't like to come into things unprepared, and I made sure I knew everything I possibly could. I knew that even though Sheriff Stilinski solved less than half the murders that came through his door, the ones he didn't solve were impossible. Even some of the ones he did solve had seemed impossible. He was good at what he did, but no one could solve every crime. Not even me, I reminded myself.

Everywhere I went, I could feel the stares of ever other member of the Beacon Hills police force watching me. Goosebumps crawled up my flesh at the strange sensation. I could almost feel their eyes on me like a physical touch. My skin crawled and I rubbed absently at the skin of arms, trying to get rid of the sticky feeling. It wasn't being watched that had me feeling so uncomfortable; it was the obvious suspicion with which I was being watched. I'd read about small towns, everyone had. They were in all sorts of stories and movies and they were always romanticized. Small town life was supposed to be all that, and everyone always had everyone else's back. What they didn't focus on much was how they immediately closed ranks against anyone who wasn't born and bred in their town. I expected this to some degree, but I hadn't been prepared for exactly how much.

But where I was from wouldn't matter when I started catching murderers, and Beacon Hills had no shortage of those.


	2. Chapter 2

Jordan

* * *

I walked into the station to start my shift, taken aback by how many people were there. It was a Tuesday night and not usually so busy. There was a lacrosse game at the high school and a lot of guys on the force had kids on the team. I figured they'd all be there. I made my way to my desk, pushing past many of the off duty officers that were trying to stare into the records room for some reason. Why would they be so interested in our failed cases?

"What's going on?" I shrugged out of my leather jacket. Three guys immediately turned around and shushed me before I even completed the question. I made a face at Malia, who was hunched over her desk, ignoring everything that was going on. She looked up at me and shrugged, then continued wading through her paper work. There didn't seem to be anything that interesting going on, but the whole station didn't come in just to see a new printer. Something was going on.

Stiles walked out of the evidence room dressed in his customary flannel, t-shirt, and jeans, head bent over something in his hands.

"Stiles," I hissed before someone could shush me again.

He looked up and around until he found who called him. I waved him over. If anyone would know what was happening it was Stiles. He always seemed to know everything that went on around town, maybe because he was simply too persistent to avoid, but it was useful. Not when he wanted to know what was going on with you, but if you wanted dirt on someone else, he was the man to know.

"Stiles, why is the entire force here?" Stiles sat on the edge of my desk and looked around, almost like he just noticed how many people were here. Or like he was looking for someone specific. "Hale's not here."

Stile glared at me, but ignored that comment. "It might have something to do with the FBI special agent who asked to be stationed here."

"Here? No Fed would volunteer to come here."

"This one did. And need I remind you, you transferred here too." I ducked my head. Stiles was right. I transferred here a couple years ago, against the advice of many. They warned me that if I was looking for an early retirement, I shouldn't go somewhere with more unsolved cases than solved ones. I'd been doing good things in LA, but for whatever reason, I felt drawn here. I still felt like and outsider after three years, but I was also a part of this town.

"So do you know anything about it?" Anytime there were Feds down here it generally wasn't a good thing. Last time a Fed was here, the sheriff's job was in jeopardy.

"From New York." Stiles nodded. "They were in dad's office, talking about math or something like that. It doesn't sound like anything bad. But the whole stations spooked. No one wants this to be a repeat of last time."

"Parrish!" The Sheriff opened the door to the records room and took a step out, scanning the crowd for me. I stood up, confused. He motioned me over and I turned to give Stiles a 'what the hell' look. Stiles just shrugged, watching his dad closely. Stiles was an observant kid, and he often figured things out that he wasn't supposed to know, things that got him in trouble. He discovered cheating husbands and wives, figured out when people were pocketing extra money, even found a few criminals on accident. He bounced around from job to job until finally he came to work here in the evidence room.

The last Fed they had come down was a huge man always in a suit wearing his sunglasses inside and making sure everything went exactly according to the rules. It was a serious drag. I was expecting something like that when I walked into the records room. Maybe someone old and about to retire.

"Sheriff?" I pushed open the door, knowing everyone else was trying to see in.

"Ya, get in here Parrish." I was almost nervous, fidgeting with my gun and my badge until it sat just right on my belt. I expected some old guy with a notebook writing down everything anyone did wrong, and I didn't need that kind of hassle right now. "Parrish, I'd like you to meet our new FBI friend."

The sheriff gestured behind him to where the cold cases and other unsolved cases were stored. It was disappointing to see exactly how many unsolved cases there were. Not all of them were murders, but seeing physical evidence of all the people who broke the law and hadn't been caught in this small town always made me glad I was able to help however I could. Ignoring our unique wall of shame, I looked for the agent Stilinski mentioned. There was a girl in the room, but she looked too young to be an agent, and I passed my gaze over her looking for the FBI Agent. There wasn't anyone else in the room and I eyed the Sheriff. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged a little, nodding back towards the girl. She had turned around now and was watching me.

"Hello. I'm Special Agent Martin. You must be Deputy Parrish." She took a step towards me and held out her hand. I found myself walking towards her and taking her hand in mine. My hand swallowed hers, but she had a firm handshake all the same.

She was nothing I expected. She was young, like barely out of college young, and beautiful. She was dressed professionally, like I suspected any FBI agent would be. She wasn't in a pantsuit, but she was dressed up much fancier than anything Beacon Hills Police Department has ever seen, probably the most beautiful FBI agent ever to walk through these halls. She had strawberry blonde hair twisted up on the back of her head, but a few tendrils had fallen out and were framing her face. She had huge, beautiful green eyes set against her pale, freckled skin. And she was short, probably only about 5'5" with her heels. She had neat clean nails, unpainted, without any rings or jewelry. She only had a simple pair of diamond earrings. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Nice to meet you." And that was the best I could come up with.

"Pleasure." She smiled before turning back to Stilinski. "So these are all your unsolved cases?" She didn't sound disapproving like the other feds had. She sounded almost excited. "Are these the murders?" She walked over to the wall where there were boxes and boxes of unsolved murder cases waiting for justice. Her shoes hardly made any sound on the tiled floor. She must wear heels a lot, which would make sense if she were a fancy Fed.

"Yes," Stilinski answered. "This wall here. And there's some over there, and there, and there."

"What are you doing with the old cases?" My voice was short, but I tended to take offense when people came in and started telling me and the people I work with how to do our job.

Martin answered me but didn't turn around. She didn't even seem bothered at the clearly confrontational tone of my voice. When she spoke, her voice was cool and collected. "I'm working on a mathematical theorem designed to predict a criminals next step. There are patterns in everything. People are predictable no matter how hard they try to be original. If I can gather enough information and input it into a computer and engineer the theorem just right, I could predict who the murderer is, and in the case of serial killers, predict their next victim." She turned around to speak to both of us. Her eyes were bright and excited, her hands gesturing in front of her. "Think of how many people we could save if we could prevent murders like that. Parents wouldn't have to loose their children; no one would have to loose a father, brother, sister, a mother, or a friend. No one would have to loose anyone else. We could make the world a better place."

"And you're going to do all that, save the world, by looking at our old cases?" I didn't have much faith in her theory, but if that's all she was here to do, it was better than I expected.

"Well, I need a baseline to work around and Michael, my boss, allowed me to come here. Sheriff Stilinski agreed to let me work on your cold cases and potentially some of your open ones as well."

I turned to Stilinski, who nodded, a little wide eyed at Martin's enthusiasm. "She'll be reporting directly to you Parrish. She's you're responsibility."

Great. An over eager, green rookie who's probably never actually been in the field. Someone I had to babysit. This was not going to be easy. People in this town didn't like new people. Something about being born and bred in a small town was evidently good enough grounds to exclude anyone from anywhere with more than 6,000 people. I had a hard enough time trying to make it and I was from L.A. L.A. is far, far different from Beacon Hills, but it was still in California. Some things translated.

Agent Martin was from New York; so far it was basically a different country. There was no way she was going to fit. Not with the clothes she wore, or the way she talked. There wasn't even a mall here, not that I needed one but I've heard many of the women complaining about it.

And now I was going to be affiliated with her. It was going to be like three years ago all over again. These people didn't trust anyone new, and it was going to be even worse if she didn't even try to fit in. I had a feeling Agent Martin was the kind of woman to stand out. She didn't seem at all concerned that Stilinski and I were still watching her while she started to sort through boxes and boxes of old cases. Maybe she was used to having this kind of attention all the time.

"Well, I'll let you two get started." Stilinski hurried to the door, shutting it on his way out so the rest of the station couldn't disturb us. Martin muttered something that sounded like bye. She was already unpacking boxes of files. There were hundreds of hundreds of files and it seemed like she wanted to go through the details of each and every one. And since she was my responsibility, it looked like I'd be helping her. Great.

"You really think you can do this?" She turned to look at me, her green eyes flashing. "You think you can save people, stop murderers before they kill?"

"Yes," she said with complete confidence. I went back to studying her and she went back to sorting through boxes. "Are you just going to watch me?"

"Ah, no. Did you need… something?"

"Can you get me the boxes from the top shelves please? I need to go through all the records you have."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"I need to input everything into my computer, into my program. Then I can merge it into my theorem."

"Your program?" I brought her one of the boxes from the top shelf. She didn't look like the type of girl that spent hours in a lab on computers doing code. I knew some of those girls in college.

"Yes. It's just something I made a couple years ago. It just got passed through for a patent a few months ago." She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "Just drop the boxes over there please."

"You're going to go through all of them now?"

"Yes." She was starting to sound exasperated, like my continued questions bothered her.

"You didn't even know you were going to be allowed to work here." She stopped unloading boxes and turned to look me square in the face.

"Deputy Parrish," she started.

"Just Parrish is fine." I always felt so pretentious when people called me by my title.

"Well, Parrish, how old do you think I am?" She raised an eyebrow.

Was this a trick question? You were never supposed to ask a woman how old she was, but what if she asked you?

"25." I took a stab in the dark. It was reasonable.

"I'm 23, and I'm one of the youngest Special Agents in the FBI. I'm _the_ best in my field. When I graduated college, I was already better trained than over half the FBI. I didn't get to be the best at what I do by wondering if I was going to get a job or relying on my good looks and charms. I come prepared, and I have a way of getting what I want." She crossed her arms and stared me down, like she was daring me to disagree. "Now if you would get me the other boxes, we can get started."


	3. Chapter 3

LYDIA

* * *

_"Early this morning, three dead bodies were found just outside town. An early morning jogger lost a dog only to discover it covered in the blood of the bodies near the river. The bodies are unrecognizable. The police have been notified and are conducting an investigation. The only thing we now know is that the bodies were deposited separately, the oldest being at least two weeks old. The newest was deposited only two nights before." _The radio host continued talking about something else, the murders just a snippet in an early morning talk show.

I turned the radio off, taking notes in a brand new notebook I bought specifically for Beacon Hills. I wasn't expecting anything this big to happen yet. I'd only been in town for about a week, but this sounded like a serial killer. This was the perfect opportunity to try out my theorem. Maybe I could convince Parrish to take me to the crime scene. He didn't seem to hate me so much, not like everyone else in this town.

From what I could understand, the bodies sounded like they were mutilated, like they'd been attacked by some kind of animal. I made a note to look up what kind of wild animals lived around here, and if any were sighted in the area. I think mountain lions lived around here, but I don't know if any of them would be brave enough, or hungry enough, to come into town and attack people. I looked up the river the bodies must have been dropped at. The only one I could find was miles outside town.

I picked up my phone and called Parrish. Hopefully he would pick me up and take me. A murder! Three murders! This was not the kind of thing I should be excited about, but I could finally do some good. Stilinski had only promised I could look at cold cases. He hadn't said anything about new cases, and certainly not one as high profile as this. Parrish's phone continued to ring, and I thought he wasn't going to answer. Wouldn't be the first time this happened. People in this town didn't seem to like me.

"Parrish." His voice crackled over the phone. This river must really be far out of town. Not that there was much of a town in the first place. But at least in the center of town, you could hear whoever you were having a conversation with.

"I want to see the bodies."

"Martin… what are you talking about?" I moved around my apartment trying to find a spot where the connection came in better.

"Parrish, don't try to keep me out of the loop. The three bodies by the river outside of town, I want to see them."

"Martin," I could hear him breathing, but I don't think he said anything. It sounded like he was moving somewhere else. Maybe he was trying to find a better connection as well. "What do you know?"

"Three bodies discovered by a dog, ripped to shreds, dumped at the lake with no signs of blood."

"Do you know Abigail?" He sounded disbelieving.

"Who's Abigail?" Maybe she was one of the dead bodies.

"The woman who found the bodies. Martin, this is important. How do you know about this?"

"I heard it on the radio this morning." Why was he being like this? "I do have a radio, Parrish."

"I'm coming to get you. I'll be there in about an hour. Wear boots." He hung up the phone. The connection was still shaky at best, but I swear it sounded like he was mad at me. And here he was the only person who didn't seem to hate me without even meeting me. I was going to get a look at these murders after all.

Parrish showed up in a little less than an hour at my door, his uniform splattered with mud. It was still early and cold, not cold like New York, but cold enough I wore tights and he had his tan uniformed jacket on. He looked at my outfit and I could feel him judging me. I looked down at my choice of clothes this morning. My skirt may have been a little shorter than my interview outfit, but it wasn't that short. I had on my dark green Hunter rain boots. If we were going to a river, I figured these were a good choice. I had on a sweater too; it was cold this morning.

The door was open just after he knocked. I may or may not have been waiting by the door, so excited I couldn't wait on the couch. "That's what you're wearing?"

"Yes. Is there some reason I shouldn't?"

He just shook his head. "Get in the car." He stomped off to the police cruiser he drove over here. He didn't wait for me as I fumbled with the lock for my new door. It was old and sticky and you had to pull the door just right. I dropped my keys into my purse and checked my hair one last time in the reflection of the glass in the door. I squared my shoulders and prepared to face Parrish and this town.

Parrish was holding the door to police car open for me, waiting impatiently. I slid into the seat and tucked my purse on the floor under my feet. "Thank –" Parrish slammed the door shut and was already moving around to the other side of the car. He started the car and pulled onto some roads I didn't know in silence. That wasn't surprising, I knew how to get to the station and that's pretty much it. Everything else was still too new.

"You going to tell me how you knew about the murders?"

"Am I not supposed to know? Were you going to keep this a secret from me so I wouldn't be able to work on the case?"

"How do you know about all this?" His hands were tight on the steering wheel.

"I heard it on the radio Parrish. Even if I'm not from here I can still listen to a local radio station. Or are there laws against that?"

"What radio station?" He was not having any of my attempted jokes.

"I don't know; it was the only one I could get in my house. Something like 1660 am or something like that." I'd only been in this town for a month and a half; I didn't know anything except where the wine section in the local grocery store was.

"There is no radio station like that." Parrish's voice was short.

"Well, it was something like that." I wouldn't make anything like that up.

He didn't answer, but his hands held onto the wheel tighter and the car sped up. We were on these old dirt roads so no one was around, but the road was bumpy and I didn't know if this old squad car was going to be able to handle it. I just sat back and let him drive his car however he wanted. It felt like we were a couple in the middle of a fight, but I hadn't figured out what was going on or what I said to make him so upset. Just because I had some information about a case he didn't seem to want me to know, that shouldn't be enough of a reason for him to be such a bitch.

He didn't even turn on the radio. I stared out the window and watched the trees rush by in tense silence.

Everything here was so different from New York. All the roads were paved, and they were never empty. Something was always happening, and it was never so quiet. As soon as I got home from work, it was quiet. My house was in the middle of town too. If I were still in New York, it would be almost too loud to sleep. Here, it was too quiet. I'd grown used to the constant buzz and white noise of highways and people's voices. Without all that, I had to rely on a loud fan to make sure I could hear more than just my own thoughts and heartbeat.

Parrish pulled the car over on the side of the dirt road.

"Martin, if you and I are going to be working together, and you expect me to trust you to do anything except organize the cold cases and type things into your computer, you cannot lie to me."

"You have to explain why you're so pissed off." He shook his head and stormed out of the car, slamming the door so hard the car shook. I got out and walked around the hood of the car. "Parrish! What is your problem with me? Did I do something to offend you? Did I break some unknown small town Beacon Hills law or something? Tell my why you're acting like a child."

"You want to know why I'm pissed off?" He circled around to stand in front of me. This close he was taller than I realized. These boots didn't give me any added height at all, and I was missing the extra inches I usually had around him. With Parrish so close, I felt smaller than normal.

"That is why I asked." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I know you're lying to me. No one knows anything about this. There is no way you could have found out about this."

"Because you wanted to keep me out of the loop. I am a Special Agent and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I didn't make it this far without knowing how to get some information, even if I'm not wanted."

"There shouldn't have been any information to get. We didn't release any," he shouted. "The only people who know anything about this are Abigail, the woman who found the bodies, and a few select members of the task force. You couldn't have heard it on the radio because no one else knows."

"What?" That couldn't be right.

"The radio stations don't know. Neither do the newspapers. As of right now, the only people who know are Stilinski, Hale, Stiles, and me. We were planning on keeping it quiet. No need for the public to panic until we can figure out what this is." He fidgeted with his belt. "But now you know." He said it as if me knowing was worse than the actual murders. He looked over my head towards where I'm guessing the bodies were.

"I can help you Parrish." I rested my hand on his arm until he looked back at me. I was practically jumping up and down in excitement, but I had to keep it in check for a few more minutes. Just until he agreed. "This is the perfect opportunity for me to use my theorem. Let me see the bodies. I don't even know anyone here to tell. You don't have to worry about that."

He stared me down like he was deciding if he could trust me. I wasn't going to worry about how I heard these murders. There must have been some reporter who got the scoop without anyone knowing. I didn't just wake up knowing things like this. He opened his mouth and held up a finger, ready to make demands, but no sound came out. I waited for him to say something, but he opened and shut his mouth, trying to decide exactly what to do with me. Maybe he was so angry he couldn't even think of how he wanted to yell at me. He held up his finger again, pointing angrily in me face. I knew he was going to let me see the bodies; he didn't drive me all the way out here just to yell at me. Now it was just a matter of how much he would yell at me first.

"Fine. You will not touch anything, do you understand. You won't go anywhere near the bodies without me, and you will only go where I go. Got it?"

"Got it. I'll be glued to your side." I'd promise just about anything if I got a chance to see the bodies. "I just want to help. I don't want anyone else to die."

"We're going to do something about that." He locked the car. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

JORDAN

* * *

Martin followed behind me as I stomped back towards the crime scene. I knew this wasn't the real crime scene. Anyone with eyes could see that the bodies had been moved. There was no blood on the bodies, or anywhere in the entire riverbank. Anyone who had seen the bodies before would know that.

But Martin hadn't seen the bodies before. She shouldn't even know about any of this, but here she was, following behind me in her stupid fancy FBI outfit. At least she hadn't worn heels. Standing so close to her when she yelled at me, those extra inches she usually had were missed. I could see it in her eyes, when she had to look up higher than normal to glare at me. She had some terrible lie about hearing a radio station broadcast about the bodies being found on a river. But no one who came to the crime scene had left yet. There was no way she could know.

She was walking right behind me, and when I stopped, she had to balance her hand on my back to keep from running into me. She backed up but I felt the heat of her hand through my jacket.

"Is this where the bodies are?" She sounded a little too excited to be about to go look at the potential products of a serial killer. I threw back an arm to keep her behind me. I really didn't want her to see these bodies, but I didn't have much of a choice anymore. She didn't seem like the type to really just give up.

"No. It's steep and muddy and not easy to get down to where the bodies are." A last ditch effort to convince her to stay back.

"I'll be fine, Parrish."

"It's not like New York."

"Parrish, I get it." She snapped. "You are not going to get me to wait in the car. I came here to solve murders, and you're not going to just push me aside."

"Fine. But remember –"

"Glued to your side. I understand." She started walking towards the river.

"That's the wrong way."

"Right." She spun around and started walking the other way. "This is why you need to keep your eye on me." She smirked at me.

She was still walking the wrong way. I grabbed her arm and led her along the river. She surprised me. I set a fast pace, and she kept up without any trouble at all.

The crime scene was farther along the river, about a ten-minute walk from where I parked the car. It hadn't seemed that long when I walked by myself, but now that Martin and I walked next to each other in silence, those ten minutes dragged on and on. She was looking at everything; the river, the trees, the sky, the leaves and sticks on the ground. From what I knew of New York, she really was out of her element here. I couldn't imagine moving somewhere completely different, across the country, without knowing anyone, to work with people who didn't accept you.

I also couldn't imagine why Martin had joined the FBI in the first place. It wasn't the most glamorous of jobs, and she screamed glamour. It was in the way she spent so much time on her outfits and how she checked her hair in any reflective surface she could find. I suspected her 'messy' hairstyle of the day had been carefully crafted in the mirror with loads of hairspray and bobby pins and other things I couldn't begin to name. Not that that took away from the appeal of it. Her hair was almost the same color as the leaves on the ground, a dark strawberry blonde that was beautiful. Whatever she used on her lips matched the color of the darker red leaves they walked over, and her skin was the same pale shade of the sunlight streaming through the clouds and branches.

"How were the bodies found?" Martin's voice cut through my musings.

"Uh," I needed time to collect my thoughts and stop comparing her to the forest. I sounded like a god damn poet. "This is a popular running trail, especially when it's not so cold. Abigail's training for a marathon and she brings her dog out here to train. Her dog was the one to actually find the bodies."

"What about the dog?"

"What _about _the dog?"

"Is he ok? Did he mess up the crime scene or anything?"

"No, the crime scene is fine. The bodies were undisturbed."

"Would she have told anyone?"

"The dog?"

"No, Abigail. Unless the dogs in Beacon Hills are different, I don't think they can talk to anyone, even when it involves murder. Could Abigail have been the one to tell someone about the bodies?"

"No."

"Well, I'm just saying she could have told the radio or something?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because she wouldn't do that."

"Because people in small towns are so good at keeping secrets?" She asked.

"She's still here. She's really shaken up and one of our other deputies is taking care of her. She hasn't been able to form more than a few sentences without crying. I can promise you, she did not tell anyone."

"But she's seen the bodies?" She asked.

"Yes." What was she getting at?

"If she's seen the bodies, what's to keep her from telling other people about the bodies?"

"I'll ask her."

Martin laughed. "That's your solution? Oh Parrish, this small town thing you've got going on is just too cute."

Small town thing? I was from LA. That was as far away from a small town as you could get without being somewhere like New York. I could understand her distrust about Abigail's secret keeping ability. I had been the same way when I first came to Beacon Hills. Small town news traveled fast, but if we asked her not to, Abigail would keep it a secret. Sometimes small towns had their benefits.

"It'll be fine, Martin." She turned around to ask me another question about something she wouldn't understand. "Do you want to see the bodies?"

"Yes."

"Then no more talking. Don't touch anything."

"And stay glued to your side, got it." She rolled her eyes. "So where is it?"

"This way." I held out my hand and she looked at it suspiciously. "It's a steep walk. Hate for you to fall."

"Thanks," she slid her gloved hand into mine. She seemed almost as hesitant as I was. I helped her down the ditch and led her towards the river. As soon as we were on reasonably flat ground again, she took her hand back. The other officers looked up when they heard her coming down and now they stared. She saw them and hesitated, pulling nervously at her gloves.

I almost felt bad for her. Small town communities were scary when they started acting all cult-like and closing ranks against an outsider. There hadn't been any new people since I'd come to town, and I'd forgotten what it was like to try to work your way into this town's collective good graces.

"Come on." The men had already seen the bodies, and it was a general consensus that live bodies, especially female bodies, were much more fun to look at than dead ones. Martin squared her shoulders and ignored the other men. She smiled at them like she couldn't be bothered to care or even notice their stares and sauntered off to where the caution tape was set up, leaving me behind.

"You're not going to get upset about the bodies or anything are you? Are you going to be ok?"

"Is there something wrong, Parrish?" She didn't turn around, but ducked under the crime scene tape.

"I just wanted to make sure you're going to be ok."

"Are you worried I'll swoon? Or do you just really not want me to see these bodies, because it's too late."

"But-"

"Parrish. I swear if I start to feel faint or like I'm going to throw up, I'll let you know." She bent down by the first body. "Is this your first time bringing a girl to a crime scene."

"Is it your first time at a crime scene?" She was so young she couldn't have bone much at the FBI.

"Oh. So this is about my age. It has nothing to do with the fact that I'm female." That was pointed. "Believe it or not Parrish, I've been to a few crime scenes in my few, few short years at the FBI. One time, they even let me past the caution tape." Her words were dripping with sarcasm. "I am perfectly capable of examining these bodies, but thanks for your concern."

"Right." If words could kill, he'd be bleeding pretty bad right now. This was turning into a wonderful partnership.


	5. Chapter 5

LYDIA

* * *

I was at my first crime scene since coming to Beacon Hills. Finally. I was beginning to go a little stir crazy from sitting in the records room all day while the entirety of the fine men employed at Beacon Hills Police Department found excuse after excuse to walk into the records room. They came in for obscure files, and to ask Parrish stupid questions. And the most common of all reasons: to stare at my ass. Not just my ass though, they stared at everything. Just like they were doing now. I was going to have to take a shower, and not just because I was kneeling in the mud.

And that's all there was here: mud. There wasn't any blood at all. "The bodies were dumped here."

"Yes."

"That wasn't a question." Parrish stood over me and I knew he was testing me. He had absolutely no faith in my skills at all. I didn't want to have these kinds of skills. Some people are just born with the ability to run really fast and some people are born to be around dead bodies all day and decide how and when they died. "That one was dumped here first," I pointed at the far body that looked like a man in his forties. He'd been here for at least two weeks. "Then that one," a woman in her late twenties. She'd been here about a week, no more than eight days. "And that one was dumped a few days ago."

Oh god, the last body was a girl with dark hair. She was only about twenty-two. Just like Allison. I stood up and pulled my gloves on tighter. Not to hide my shaking fingers. I wouldn't let myself break down like this in front of half the police station when they were already just waiting for me to act like a typical girl. Not when I was under such intense scrutiny. But she looked so much like Allison. I had to get away from her. All I could see was Alli's face, Alli's body after she was dumped outside my apartment.

"Anything else?"

"Hmm?" I moved to the older man's body. Anything to get away from the girl's body and the memories of my best friend.

"What else do you see about the bodies?"

"Is this a quiz?" The bodies seemed like they'd been redressed after they were killed and before they were dumped.

"Only if you get it wrong." He crossed his arms and stared down at me. I'm surprised he was only holding his normal detective notebook instead of a pen and paper to grade me. "What do you think?"

"Do you actually care what I have to say?" He just stared. I sighed, starting with the most obvious and basic. "The bodies were all dumped at different times. About two weeks, about a week, and two or three days ago," I said, pointing.

"You already said that."

"I just wanted to make sure you wrote it down. Wouldn't want you to miss anything in that book of notes you and the boys at the station are keeping on me." He looked down guiltily at his little police note pad. Ha, I totally knew it. "With the amount of bodies dumped here, it looks like a serial killer. The bodies were dressed in their own clothes again after they were killed."

"You can tell that?"

"Yes, I can. Look how well they fit each person."

"How do you know they were put on after they were dead?"

"There's no blood on them." I carefully pulled back the sleeve of the black button down shirt the man had been redressed in. There was blood all over his arm. "They all had sex just before they died.

"What? You can't possibly know that." He folded his arms and gave up on the Lydia Martin Exposed notebook of his. I shrugged. Sometimes I just got a feeling like this. I was always right though, so I learned to trust them. "You're saying all these people were raped?"

"No, not raped. They wanted to have sex with the killer. I don't think there were any drugs, just alcohol." I'd have to start a list of all the possible drugs then see if any were sold in Beacon Hills and who had access to them.

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"How can you know that?" I think if I told him the sky was blue he'd ask for proof.

"I've been to a lot of crime scenes. This one is obviously a body dump and there was sex involved." I stood up and straightened my skirt. Staring at the body that wasn't Alli but looked a lot like Alli was not helping me keep my cool. Allison was dead and I had to focus on solving these murders. These three people could be someone's best friend and I was going to give them some closure. "Sex, but not rape," I clarified.

"You're making that up to impress us."

"Why would I need to impress you? You and your caveman friends are already impressed with the fact that I can read and do math problems harder than the square root of a hundred and ninety-six." I tucked a fly away hair behind my ear. The weather was a lot dryer here than in New York, and it was great for my hair. And the bodies; the crime scene didn't wash away during the winter. Parrish was staring at me like I'd grown an extra head. "It's fourteen, Parrish."

"I know that." He crossed his arms and put his little notebook in his back pocket. "Hale. Get over here."

"You're going to get someone over here to double check everything I've said. Have a little faith Parrish. I _am_ a genius." I held up my fingers to check my nails. I hope I didn't get any dirt under my nails or chip my polish. If it stung a little that Parrish wouldn't take my word that I knew what I was talking about, but these things took time. It took Michael months and at least eight cases that I personally cracked before he started taking me at my word. I knew it would take some time, but it was still frustrating to know I was right and have idiots like Parrish and Stilinski Senior. If this Hale knew anything about crime scenes, he'd be able to see that I was right.

Hale walked over, leather jacket instead of the tan sheriffs issued jacket the other men were wearing. Hale was tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious. He had dark hair that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed after rolling around with a lucky lover all night long. Derek was his first name, or so I'd heard whispered around the precinct, but he was the kind of man who only let his close friends and those very lucky lovers call him that.

"Parrish. Agent," he nodded at me. At least he acknowledged me. Most of the fine men of Beacon Hills Sherriff's Department swung between two extremes where I was concerned. While I was acting as glorified secretary of the records room, the men figured it was ok to stare at my ass and make ridiculous barely masked innuendos at me expense. When I was out here or trying to make myself useful on any open case, I suddenly turned invisible. Hale was the only one who acknowledged me, besides Parrish but he was forced too.

"Martin, this here is Hale. He's an expert at picking up evidence at crime scenes. Best of the business."

"Nice to meet you, Ma'am."

"Expert." I looked up from my nails to meet his golden green eyes before turning my attention back to my cuticles, a little miffed at being called a ma'am. Did I look like a ma'am? Was it that small town hospitality making itself known? If I wasn't already an outsider for being the new girl, and he weren't so obviously taken, I might do something about that Hale character. But I was the new girl, and Stilinski would kill me if I went after his man. Stilinski Junior of course. I had eyes, and I was a pretty good detective. He went by Stiles, and he was a huge fan of Detective Hale. I didn't need to be messing up a budding relationship, especially the Sherriff's son's budding relationship. Even if Hale wasn't interested in Stiles – doubtful given the way he looked at him – I was not in the right place for a new relationship. I needed friends before I needed someone in my bed.

"Hale," Parrish pointed at the bodies. "Please tell Agent Martin what you can conclude from these bodies."

Hale looked between the two of us. It seemed like he was going to ask a question, but he just rolled his eyes and bent to look at the bodies. He told Parrish the same exact thing I did, but with a deeper voice. Parrish had no reason to doubt the dates I gave him; even he could have seen that. Hale peeled back the sleeve of one of the bodies and saw the blood under the clothing. He leaned down to look closer at the bodies. Was he sniffing them?

"Smells like alcohol."

"Hm. Have your ME check for rape. I guarantee you there won't be any." I dusted off my already spotless skirt. Parrish frowned but seemed to accept what Hale said. "Might want to check out clubs and bars in the area." Did this town even have a club? The teen's had to be able to go somewhere didn't they. And there had to be a bar. Even the smallest town's needed their alcohol.

"Did you get everything you needed Martin?"

"Am I on the case?"

"We'll talk to Stilinski." He grabbed my elbow and started to guide me out of the ditch the crime scene was in.

"Are you going to sequester me in the records room again?" I tried to keep the crime scene in view, but Parrish kept marching me towards the car.

"Let's get you back in the car." He opened my door and practically shoved me inside, slamming the door as soon as my legs were clear. I pulled out my notebook and wrote down everything about the crime scene before I forgot. Going back over the details later might help me remember something. Parrish stood in front of his police car radioing someone. Probably telling them he had to take the nosey Agent back to the records room before she could mess anything else up. Or before she solved the murder for these small town boys.

This could be the breakthrough I needed to test my equation. Serial killers provided lots and lots of information that I could work into my theorem. Serial killers were much better then murders purely from passion. Strictly in the scholarly sense I mean. For data.


	6. Chapter 6

JORDAN

I stuffed Martin in the car and locked the doors. The doors were just to make me feel better, when what I really wanted to do was handcuff her and lock her up until we could figure out how she knew about the murders so early. I radioed Stilinski. "Sherriff, are you sure about the FBI Agent?"

"Martin?"

"Yes. Are you sure we can trust her."

"Yes, Parrish. I talked to Michael, her supervisor in New York. She has some unusual methods, but she gets results."

"How does she get those results?" Martin had pulled out a notebook and was hunched over in her seat, scribbling furiously. She was left-handed.

"If you want to say something, just say it Parrish."

"Sir, she called me about the murders."

"How did she find out?"

"She said she heard it on the radio, on a station that doesn't exist. She knew details of the case before I brought her here." Some crackpot story she probably made up. It was going to bother me until she told me how she knew about any of this.

"You want to bring her onto the case?"

"What, no." I didn't want her anywhere near this case.

"Because she's a good detective?"

"No, she knows things she's not supposed to know. I'm bringing her back to the station."

"You want me to talk to her?" Stilinski sighed. "Have her talk to Stiles or Hale. Hale's good at spotting lies, and Stiles will know more about the radio station that doesn't exist than I would."

"Fine, but I don't trust her."

"Because she's new? You were new a couple of years ago Parrish, and look where you are now."

Ya, but that was different. "I'm bringing her back. I told her you're the only one who can let her in one this case."

"It's not a good example for an officer of the law to lie, Parrish. I made her your responsibility."

"There's something about her that bugs me. I don't want her on this case." I didn't want her anywhere in one hundred miles of Beacon Hills. She messed with my head. Sure she was beautiful, but she was so young and she knew too much. "No one knows about this but Hale, you, me, and Max. She knew before all of us."

"Then she's a damn fine detective."

"Bullshit. Sir," I added at the end. Stilinski was pretty relaxed but I didn't want to get written up.

Stilinski sighed. "Have Derek and Stiles talk to her, lock her in the records room and pump her for information for all I care. But if she can help you with this case, you need to let her help you. Three people are already dead. It's been going on for a month, maybe more based on the bodies, and we had no idea it was even happening. If Martin knows something we don't, I want her on this case. I don't care if you don't like her, put your personal feelings aside and catch this killer."

"Yes, Sir." I pocketed my radio and stomped back to the car. Martin was still taking notes in her little notebook, alternating between writing and chewing the cap of her pen. I unlocked the door and jammed the keys into the ignition harder than necessary. I pressed on the gas with more force than I should and the tires spun out before they caught on the dirt and gravel, shooting the car forward.

"Something wrong Parrish?" Martin hadn't looked up from her notebook. I looked over and saw a mess of numbers and mathematical symbols I had no hope of puzzling out. She added numbers here and there, and squiggles that I vaguely recognized from college math classes. Remembering what they meant was an entirely different story.

"What are you doing?"

She looked up and watched me, the tip of her pen in her mouth. Her green eyes narrowed and tapped her pen against pursed lips. The sun was behind her head and illuminated her red hair until it looked like she had a halo, like some kind of angel. Damn it. I did not like her. She's practically a suspect.

"Data." She finally answered. Her eyes fell on my hands clenched around the steering wheel and I made a conscious effort to relax. She raised a red eyebrow that perfectly matched her hair. "I'm assuming I'm on the case."

"Why would you think that?"

"You're upset."

"And you think that has anything to do with you being on this case? I told you, only the sheriff can decide that."

"He did. You just got off the phone with him. Well, radio." She was back to her numbers and squiggles. "I do know what I'm doing Parrish. I can help you."

I didn't say anything. It pissed me off that she already knew she was on the case. Again, how did she know that? I wasn't going to ask her; she already managed to figure out too much even when I stuck her in the car.

She didn't seem bothered by the silence. She'd flipped to a new page in her journal and began doodling buildings. Every time I looked over at her, which was more often than I'd like to admit, she had added another building to what looked like a strip mall. The detail was incredible, especially considering that we were bumping around in a car on old back roads. By the time we got to the station she'd completed two pages of different buildings with ease.

She got out of the car as soon as we parked, stuffing her notebook back in her purse.

"Where too first?" She asked, not even looking over her shoulder.

"The records room."

"Who are you going to have talk to me first?" She cocked her head to the side and looked up at me, smiling at my confused face. She sighed, like I was too slow for her. "It's obvious you don't trust me, you'd go so far as to call me a suspect. You aren't letting me on this case out of the goodness of your heart; you're doing it because your sheriff knows I can get results. None of you understand my methods, my equation, so you'd rather write it off than try to understand it. I know more than you and that makes you uncomfortable, so you're going to have people question me so they can understand what I do. My bet is on the younger Stilinski."

I just stared at her, realizing that I had grossly underestimated this woman from the FBI. I knew she was supposed to be good at her job; the FBI didn't hire just anyone, but I had no idea. She had to be so good, being so young, but I had been wondering why she'd been shipped off to Beacon Hills where more crimes went unsolved than practically anywhere else.

"Just get inside the station."

"Is it going to be Hale? Oh, it's going to both of them. At the same time?"

I grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the doors, ignoring the looks I was getting from the rest of the staff. "Stiles!"

"So it's going to be one at a time."

"Do you want on this case or not?" She nodded. Of course she did. "Then go in the records room and stop talking for a minute. Between you and Stiles, there's never a moments silence in this place."

"You say my name Parrish?" Stiles stuck his head out of his research room. He must have heard something about the murders because he had already started a new murder board covered in red string. Stiles was the resident researcher of the sheriffs station. He was always informed of all the cases and connected dots that the rest of us couldn't quite get a grasp on. Because of him, the station's abysmal solve rate had been steadily increasing since Stiles returned from school. He hadn't wanted to be an officer, but his father couldn't keep him out of police business, so he'd skipped over protocol and employed him as a consultant of sorts. It hadn't been an official position until Stiles came along, but Stiles had a way of breaking the rules until he was able to do what he wanted.

Martin had sat herself at her modified desk in the records room, and was checking her lipstick in a compact mirror she'd fished out of her purse. She seemed to have an incredible amount of stuff in that bag. Every time he turned around it was something new.

"Is Hale back yet?"

I saw Stiles frown a little before he put on a brave face. "I haven't seen him. I've been working on a board for this new case. Got anything to add?"

"Ask Martin."

"The suit? What does she know about anything?"

"More than I did. She called me about the murders and demanded to be put on the case an hour and a half ago."

Stiles frowned. "I didn't even know until fifteen minutes ago."

"I'd only heard about it half an hour before she called. The bodies were just discovered this morning."

"By the jogger and her dog. It's on the board." Stiles hitched his thumb in the direction of his murder room, watching Martin walk around the room and look at old records. "I didn't know fed's could look that good." Both of us watched Martin as she bent down to pick something up off the ground, eyes glued to her butt. She straightened back up and I swear half the station was left drooling.

"I'm a size four," she called out.

"What?" Half the stations jaws audibly snapped shut.

"My skirts. You wanted to know what size I am, right? That's the only reason I can think of for all of you to be staring at my ass, or is there something else?" She turned and leveled a hard, green stare at each man until they looked away. Some even muttered an apology. I pushed Stiles towards the room.

"Go figure out how she knew. And shut the door. I want people to get some work done today."


End file.
